


Smoke & Mirrors

by crescendotayuri (orphan_account)



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Begging, Daddy Kink, I am so sorry for this, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, daddybek, this is just 2k words of beka bangin yuri over the kitchen table
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/crescendotayuri
Summary: Prompt from @nolixxx on Tumblr: "Bend over."Yuri's been a tease all night, but Otabek takes it in stride.(Literally just 2k+ words of Otayuri smut.)





	Smoke & Mirrors

“Yura, come here.”

Yuri lets out a bark of a laugh, smirking at the stern expression on Otabek’s face. There’s a steadiness in his eyes that Yuri can’t help but be shaken by, but he leans against the fridge and keeps that coy look on his face. He knows Otabek can see right through it, that glint in his dark eyes piercing into Yuri’s core, but he tilts his head in defiance.

“What’s wrong, Beka? Getting to be a little too much for you?”

Otabek regards him almost casually from where he’s standing in front of the table, like an observer in an art gallery. On any other night, he’d take Yuri’s feigned rebellion in stride—despite having grown up considerably, Otabek knew that Yuri’s feistiness wasn’t going away with age, and he loves him for it, he really does. But fuck, after two hours of Yuri’s (technically Otabek’s) sweater “accidentally” slipping off his shoulders, Yuri brushing his ass against Otabek (“it’s a small kitchen, Beka, grow up”), and lingering kisses that never had the chance to build into something _more_ —yeah, maybe he’s getting a _little_ worked up.

But he knows how to play this game better than anyone.

“I said, come here.”

His voice is clear and as commanding as he can make it when he’s so riled up, and he doesn’t miss the way Yuri’s eyes widen in excitement, the strange quirk to his arrogant smile. Pushing himself off the fridge, he sways his hips a little when he walks towards Otabek, tossing his long hair over one shoulder and looking at Otabek through his lashes. Everything about him is poised, perfected, like he’s putting on a show; whether the show is for him or for himself, Otabek doesn’t know. But he does know that he wants it to end.

When Yuri is in front of him, Otabek crushes the urge to touch him. Instead, he keeps his hands resting back against the kitchen table, interrupting Yuri before he can speak.

“Bend over.”

He can’t ignore the way Yuri swallows, the blush that spreads across his frozen face, before he recovers, seamlessly returning his lips to their previous, smug curve. Slowly, he leans in toward Otabek’s face, so close Otabek can feel his breath against his lips.

“Why don’t you make me?” Yuri whispers, a plea disguised as a challenge.

And Otabek accepts.

He doesn’t hesitate as he tangles his hands in Yuri’s hair, pulling it so his head is tilted back and his mouth open in a surprised gasp. Otabek kisses him with more teeth than tongue, biting at his bottom lip in the way he knows drives Yuri crazy. Yuri lets out a soft cry against his lips, arching against Otabek’s hold as he clutches at his shoulders. Before Yuri can regain his control, Otabek draws him back by his hair.

Otabek stops for a second to take in the tiny “oh, fuck,” that Yuri hisses out and the pleasure/pain twisted on his face before he’s grabbing Yuri by the waist, spinning him around, and roughly bending him over the kitchen table.

With one hand still tangled in the hair at the nape of Yuri’s neck, he leans down so his nose is buried in the crook of it, his body completely draped over the Yuri’s lithe one. He opens his eyes at Yuri’s small noises, admiring the way Yuri’s breath leaves fleeting spots of condensation over the polished wood where his head is turned, the way his eyes are clenched shut under a furrowed brow. Gently, Otabek turns and sinks his teeth into the skin of Yuri’s exposed shoulder, relishing the cry Yuri lets out in response.

Breathing him in one more time, Otabek stands back up, loosening his hold on Yuri as he does; Yuri doesn’t try to move.

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, Yura?” he says, curving a hand around Yuri’s hip. “After teasing me all night, you’re finally getting what you want.”

He doesn’t give him a chance to respond, instead snaking his hand to palm Yuri’s hardness and smiling when Yuri whimpers at the touch.

“This _is_ what you wanted, right? For me to bend you over this table and fuck you until you come?”

Yuri whimpers, his entire act crumbled. “Beka, fuck—“

“Say it,” Otabek orders, his voice still nonchalant, steady—everything Yuri currently _isn’t_.

“Please,” Yuri breathes.

“ _Say it,_ ” Otabek repeats calmly.

“Fuck, Daddy, _please!_ ”

He smooths his hand over Yuri’s dick again, squeezing slightly before removing the touch altogether.

“Good boy.”

Unceremoniously, he rucks Yuri’s sweater up his back and grips the waistband of his leggings, pulling them down his legs and tossing them to the side. As he reaches into his back pocket for the packet of lube Yuri has teasingly slipped in earlier that night, he admires the way Yuri squirms under him, back arched against the cool wood so he’s almost on his tiptoes.

After drizzling lube over his own fingers, his free hand comes to the small of Yuri’s back, pressing him into the tabletop. Yuri writhes against his hold.

“Daddy, _shit,_ hurry up, c’mon—“

And yeah, usually Otabek wouldn’t take that, would tease and deny Yuri until he was on the verge of tears and then keep going. But honestly, he’s close to crying himself, and with the way Yuri’s body is twisting under him, his red lips letting out the most divine sounds, begging, desperate—

Otabek doesn’t think it’d be fair to judge him at this precise moment.

He leans down to kiss at Yuri’s neck again as his fingers wander downwards, over the curve of his ass and stopping to rub at his hole. Otabek groans at the feeling of Yuri’s hot skin against his own, pressure increasing as he struggles fruitlessly to keep that beautiful friction, so close to where he needs it. A whimper falls from Yuri’s lips unwittingly.

“Please,” he moans, voice breaking halfway through the word.

Otabek breathes Yuri in before pushing up to admire the view as he presses his finger inside, Yuri’s hands twitching into fists next to his head. Otabek slides his hand from Yuri’s back to hold his hip firmly in place as he explores Yuri’s tight heat, stretching him enough to slip another finger inside.

Yuri shakes against him, noises spilling out of him in a steady stream. Otabek stifles a groan when he catches sight of Yuri’s face, red and pressed against the table and twisted in pleasure, and his hardness twitches where it’s pressed up against Yuri’s hip.

As he presses a third finger in, he notices the way Yuri is biting at his thumb nail, despite the thin strands of gold messily obscuring him—a nervous habit. Slowly, Otabek lowers himself toward Yuri, letting go of his hip to reach up and push his hair out of the way. He can see Yuri’s eyes glistening, and gently, he covers Yuri’s trembling hand with his own and pulls it away from his mouth.

“Calm down, kitten, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs, and twists his fingers inside Yuri to brush against his spot.

Yuri tosses his head back and cries out, still clasping Otabek’s hand in his desperate grip. Yuri is stretched enough despite the way he’s clenching around him, but Otabek wants so badly to keep fucking Yuri like this until he comes on his fingers, all sense of smugness and control dissipated. But Otabek can’t ignore his own arousal anymore, not with the way Yuri is writhing against his cock.

He pulls his fingers out of Yuri reluctantly, huffing a laugh at the indignant cry Yuri lets out in response. He slicks his cock almost mechanically to the sound of Yuri’s labored breath, interspersed with whimpers he probably doesn’t realize he’s making.

Yuri’s hand twitches back towards his mouth, but Otabek stops him before he can bite on his nails again. He presses Yuri flush against the table as he wraps his hands around his bony wrists, taking away any leverage he may have had. He gathers both of Yuri’s wrists to one of his hands and holds them behind Yuri’s back, and Yuri thrusts his hips back powerlessly, the noises coming out of him nearly sobs.

“Say it,” Otabek repeats, curling his hand tightly around Yuri’s hip once again. There’s no hesitation this time around.

“Beka, _Daddy_ , please, I need—“ He cuts himself off with a moan, pressing his cheek against the table in an attempt to look back at Otabek. And fuck, the way those green eyes are glinting, staring up at him as Yuri quivers in his grasp, a silent plea—

Otabek pushes his cock inside, gasping as Yuri’s tight heat envelops him. Yuri strains against Otabek’s strong hands, wrists rubbing against the soft material of his sweater. But Otabek doesn’t move, taking time to close his eyes against the torrents of sound spilling from deep in Yuri’s throat, getting lost in the scent of his hair and the heat radiating off his skin.

“ _Daddy,_ ” Yuri whispers, and Otabek slides deeper inside. “Fuck,” Yuri gasps, tensing as Otabek’s cock presses insistently against his walls.

Yuri feels like crying, screaming, shoving Otabek down into the chair and riding him until they both come. But instead, he’s boneless and melting into the table, his dick aching untouched between his legs, hips and wrists almost definitely bruising under his Daddy’s grip, and _fuck, he’s inside—_

“You alright, Yura?” Otabek pants against his neck, making him shiver.

_“Please.”_

Otabek reaffirms his grip on Yuri’s hip and slides out before slamming back in, and Yuri cries out. He continues with a slow and steady pace, avoiding Yuri’s prostate and coaxing more moans out of him.

“Shit, Beka, so fucking _big_ ,” Yuri whimpers, eyes clenched shut. Otabek goes a little faster at that, sliding his hand from its hold on Yuri’s hip up to his waist. He lingers there before continuing up to curl his hand gently around the nape of Yuri’s neck. He doesn’t press, but rests his hand gently against the hot skin, and Yuri fucks himself back against Otabek’s cock with a whine.

“Ah, fuck, kitten—“ Otabek grunts, and he thrusts harder in response to Yuri’s desperate movements.

“Daddy, please,” Yuri cries, his voice muffled by the table, and Otabek decides that’s enough.

He angles his hips precisely as he slams back into Yuri and he’s rewarded with a sharp cry as Yuri arches against him, thighs shaking.

“Yes, _fuck_ , right there, Daddy, oh, _oh_ —“ Yuri writhes as Otabek hits his spot dead-on, his pace quick and unrelenting, a stark contrast to the way he’s rubbing soothingly at Yuri’s neck.

Otabek can feel his orgasm building. He releases Yuri’s hands, but Yuri keeps them in place even though his arms are shaking. He grabs at Yuri’s neglected cock roughly, sliding his hand up and down the shaft a few times before rubbing his fingers mercilessly against its leaking tip. Yuri shakes apart underneath him, the stimulation overwhelming him.

“Ah, _ah, ah!_ Daddy, _please,_ I’m—“ he whimpers, a high-pitched keening sound that goes straight to Otabek’s cock. “I’m gonna come, Daddy, can I, please?”

Otabek smiles, tightening his hand around Yuri. “So demanding before, and now you’re begging to come?”

Yuri strains beneath him, tears starting to leak from the corners of his eyes. “ _Daddy, daddy—“_

Otabek shushes him, nosing at the bite mark on his shoulder. “Alright, kitten, you can come.”

He kisses Yuri’s shoulder as he shudders, orgasm overwhelming him, his lips parting in a barely-audible scream. Otabek groans as Yuri tightens impossibly around him. Otabek can feel his legs trembling against his own, and he moves his hand from Yuri’s spent cock to wrap his arm under his hips, holding him up. Yuri’s overstimulated whimpers spur him on, and it only takes a few more thrusts before he’s spilling inside Yuri with a gasp.

When he comes back to himself, Otabek drapes himself over Yuri with a sigh, and Yuri lets out an “oof!” in reply. His head rests next to Yuri’s on the table, both of them panting, breathing each other in. When Otabek opens his eyes, he sees the wry look Yuri is shooting him through his messy hair, and Otabek laughs.

Yuri narrows his eyes, but he can’t do anything to stop the smile that appears on his face, and Otabek loves him like this—fucked out, limp against the table, cheeks flushed, hair tangling, grinning as he catches his breath.

Otabek brushes his hair back with one hand before cupping his cheek and kissing him (it doesn’t really work with the way they’re both grinning). Carefully, Otabek leans up on one arm, his other still looped around Yuri.

“You’re in charge of cleaning the table,” Otabek says, and touches his finger to the tip of his nose to be sure. Yuri groans.

“If I’m cleaning the table, you’re cleaning _me_ ,” he replies, and Otabek nods.

“It’s a deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: @crescendotayuri


End file.
